The Music Within Me
by sburbiangodtier
Summary: Drabbles based off of the songs on my playlist. Varied pairings and genres. All pairings are yaoi-based. Rated M for violence, language, and shonen-ai/yaoi themes. Eighth chapter is fluffy America/England.
1. Lips of an Angel

**Ah, welcome to my newest project! To get my muse juices flowing again after slow long in fanfiction hiatus (that is, writing something on my own that isn't an RP!), I decided to take every single song from my playlist at and make a Hetalia fanfiction out of it! Hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as I'll enjoy making them. :3 Perhaps you too can get involved! Just tell me the name of a song you want to see a specific pairing to, and I'll try to work it in! Also, you can check out my playlist for yourself. Just go to playlist(dot)com , look up DivinersSuperior17, and go to my Facebook playlist. **

**These songs aren't in order. I'm just doing them by the inspiration that comes to me. Also, in some stories, there will be human names. Just letting you know that.**

**First up is the song "Lips of an Angel", which belongs to Hinder, and not to me. Also, Axis Powers Hetalia does not belong to me either. If it did, I'd be Queen of England. Literally! **

**Enjoy. :3**

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"**Lips of an Angel"**

**Pairings Intended: America/England, England/Japan, America/Russia**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Romance, Angst**

England was roused from his slumber by his cell phone vibrating in his ear. He groaned softly, careful not to awaken his bed partner as he looked at the digital clock, its neon green digits shining through the darkness of his bedroom. Damn it. It was four o'clock in the morning! Who the hell was calling at this hour?

He grabbed the phone and glanced at the caller ID, his heartbeat accelerating just the slightest when he saw who it was. The dirty-blonde Briton flipped the phone open. "Hello?" He whispered, getting up and tiptoeing his way to the door. He slipped through the crack, careful to keep the door from creaking as he made his way down the hall to the den. Meanwhile, there was a still silence from the other end of the line.

"Hello? America? Is that you? Why are you calling so late?" He whispered again, concern coloring his voice. "It's kind of hard to talk right now…being so late and all…"

There was the sound of sniffles, then a quiet sob. England's heart froze. "America, why are you crying? Are you alright?"

"It's…it's Russia." America sobbed, his voice breaking over the phone. "We got…into another fight…tonight…." A pause, and then, "I'm calling from a diner outside of Boston. He…he kicked me out of my own house."

The sound of America's choking sobs and desperate, heaving breaths tore at England's heart. He'd always known that when Russia started courting America, it would mean trouble for his former little colony. But America had been so certain that he'd found love at long last, in one of the most feared countries in the world; so England had dropped his protests, only to watch in horror as Russia continually beat down the boy.

America had come into meetings with black eyes before. Bruises littered his pale skin nearly every time he was seen in public. Once he'd even had a sling on his arm, claiming that he'd fallen down the stairs. But as clumsy as America was at times, England didn't buy it. He'd seen the dark smirk of enjoyment on Russia's face as America lied for his actions. It hurt the man more than he dared to show.

Of course, he shouldn't have these feelings for his former colony and former lover. Not when he was already in another relationship. He and Japan had hooked up two years after America had left him. In all reality, it really wasn't appropriate for them to even be talking right now, given the situation. But like hell he was going to bring up formalities to the despairing country right now!

"You can talk to me, America. You know that. But…I'm gonna have to whisper, because I can't be too loud." England muttered, glancing towards the hallway, listening with his other ear for any sounds of rousing coming from his bedroom.

There was silence on the other end for a long moment once again. Then a very soft, "I wish that I had stayed with you, England. You wouldn't treat me like Russia does."

The Brit's heart clenched. How many times had he wished for the very same thing? Being with Japan…now that he really thought about it, was obligatory to him. Japan was a stand-in. Someone he'd gone to when his heart was near breaking in two. But as much as he longed to be in America's arms once again, he knew it couldn't happen. Not with everything that had happened. The wounds were still too fresh, too raw, to risk any sort of attempt at reconciliation now.

"I…I wish so too, America." He found himself saying, however. "I guess…I guess we never really moved on, did we?"

"I've dreamt of you so many times."

"So have I. In fact, it's funny that you called me tonight. Because when I was asleep…I was dreaming of you. And me. Back in the days of your childhood."

The American was quiet again for a moment. "Does Japan know that you're on the phone with me?"

England shook his head, even though he knew that the blonde couldn't see it. "No. And I guess Russia has no clue that you even talk to me still, right?"

There was a harsh laugh, one that sounded so…so…un-America-like. "No. Do you know what he'd do to me if he did? He'd lock me in my own basement…pick up his pipe…" The rest of the words were disintegrated by more choking, heaving sobs. But these weren't wails of sadness and hurt. They were of fear. And with every second that passed with America crying into the phone, England's mood grew angrier and darker.

"You shouldn't let that piece of shit hurt you so badly." He growled into the phone, completely forgetting about Japan for a moment until he heard the bed creak. He clamped his mouth shut, waiting for footsteps, but they never came. Japan had obviously just rolled over in bed.

"I know. But what can I do? He's so much bigger than me…and stronger too. I'm no hero when it comes to him. I'm just a lousy, second-rate—"

"Stop that! You _are_ a hero. You're better than this, America!" England urged. "Why do you think I fell for you? You're strong, handsome, and even though you can be annoying at times, you're the best thing that ever came into my life. I don't regret adopting you as my brother all those years ago, and I don't regret loving you the way I still do." There. He'd said it. Tears came to his eyes, and his thick eyebrows drew nearly into a unibrow over his emerald eyes. "Damn it, America! Japan is in the next room, but yet I don't want to go back to him. Hearing your voice over the phone…it sounds like sweet music to my ears. Just talking to you makes it hard to be faithful to him."

Another deafening silence. Then America finally said, "I knew you still felt the same way." England could practically hear the smile on his beloved America's face. "But…can we really make it work?"

England pondered that. "I don't know yet. But I do know that you need to stay away from Russia! He shouldn't be the one kicking you out of your own house. It needs to be the other way around, you silly twat. You're working things backwards."

America laughed softly. "I guess so. Thank you, England. For everything. I need to go. Russia is in desperate need of an ass-kicking. And me, as the hero, will be the one to give it to him!"

"Go get 'em, tiger." England chuckled, feeling his heart warm at the newfound confidence in America's voice.

"Goodbye, England. I'll talk to you soon okay?" America said before hanging up.

England was left with his cell phone still to his ear, a silly grin on his face and three whispered words on his lips. _"I love you."_

------------------

_It's really good to hear your voice saying my name  
It sounds so sweet  
Coming from the lips of an angel  
Hearing those words it makes me weak  
And I never wanna say goodbye  
But boy you make it hard to be faithful  
With the lips of an angel._

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**Next drabble will hopefully be written and up soon! Reviews are much appreciated! :D**


	2. Breathe Into Me

**Gah, I just had to get this one off my chest before it drove me insane! But you all don't mind, right? Yes, this is yet another America/England fanfic. I had originally planned for the second fic of the series to be Germany/Italy, but when I was listening to "Breathe Into Me" by Red, I was struck with this inspiration so hard that it nearly knocked me over. **

**There is so much history backing this one, unlike my last drabble. I support the fact that the American Civil War was a time of mental insanity for our favorite hero. Like, he…well, you'll just have to read for yourself, won't you? When I was listening to this song earlier, I was teetering between America/England and my newest pairing interest: America/Russia, and when I saw the lyrics, I said "Screw it! This is America/England!" So here you go, my lovelies. **

**Disclaimers: Axis Powers Hetalia does not belong to me. If it did, the world would be forever having one big orgy! 8D Also, "Breathe Into Me" does not belong to me. It belongs to the band, "Red", who are amazing in their own right. I made this drabble because I had the idea and nothing better to do with my time. **

**Now, enjoy!**

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"**Breathe Into Me"**

**Pairing: America/England**

**Rated: T**

**Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family**

_And this is how it feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me  
_

"America, please! Don't do this to yourself. If you try to build your own economy from scratch, with little to no outside help, you'll only end up ruined."

"I have to do this, England. It's for the good of my people."

England's pleas had fallen on deaf ears yet again.

"America, slavery is wrong! You know it is! Why do you insist on having a country founded on the morals where freedom is the law of the land, and yet you enslave innocent people?! Don't you think that's rather contradictory?" England put his hands on America's broad shoulders; no easy feat seeing how the blonde man was so much taller than he was now.

_And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you_

But alas, America only wrenched himself away from his once-brother and gave him the coldest of glares. Then he turned on his heel and ran.

And England knew. That wasn't the America he'd raised.

----

_  
And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore.  
_

"_Damn Yank! You don't know when to quit, do ya? Well, it's high time ya got what's bin comin' to ya since the start!" _

America clutched at his head, screaming at that awful voice, coming from deep within. "Stop it! You know that you're in the wrong. Give up this cruel practice, set the slaves free. We can all live in peace."

"_What are ya? My Ma? You ain't got the power to control me anymore. I'm seceding from you." _

And Texas cracked in front of his eyes, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

----

_  
And this is why I choose when it's all left up to me_

It was war. Terrible. Raging. And it was all inside of him. America suffered at his own hands. The scars across his back, the bruises, the broken bones, the blood. It was all caused by him.

Or was it?

True, every morning when America stared at himself in the mirror, his blue eyes dimmed with the tyranny and mutiny that raged inside of his own head and his body gaunt and pale with starvation, sickness, death, he would touch the mirror and see himself. And _him._

There were no words to describe the other side of his mind. There was no explanation as to why he'd appeared. And yet, he was there all the same.

"_What'd ya expect, Yankee? That you could survive in this great big world alone? Hah! If it weren't for the Brit, ya woulda bin extinct years ago! And now, I'm the one courting England. I'm the one that is going to become a country of my own, allied with the one you scorned. It's all your fault, Yank._

America glared at himself, his eyes shifting from that icy-sapphire to a dark, stormy grey as he battled himself in his mind. If one would have been witness to it, they would have witness the slow crumbling of a man, a country, in desperate need of help.

--------

_Breathe your life into me  
I can feel you  
I'm falling, falling faster  
Breathe your life into me  
I still need you  
I'm falling, falling  
Breathe into me  
Breathe into me_

But even when America thought that he had no one, England was always there. He held America as more cuts, bruises, and illnesses ravaged his beloved former colony's body. He knew the man's secret. And yet, here he sat, America limp in his arms from yet another day of fighting, and he was able to do nothing to help. This was America's battle. His civil war.

"England…I wish I would have listened." America whispered, leaning his head into the Brit's chest. His blue eyes fluttered open, the color within them changing quite a few times as his other side tried to gain control of his body, but for the moment, he prevailed. It was just long enough for him to have this conversation.

England sighed, putting a cool cloth to America's forehead. "I know, you silly git. I wish the same."

"If I had listened…if I had gotten help when things got so bad…maybe…maybe…" But the American's air supply was gone. He laid back against England yet again as his eye color shifted to that terrible grey and the illness increased. It wasn't America who was sick, but his other side. Pneumonia. Fear locked itself around England's heart as he heard the gasping and wheezing coming from America's thin chest. This wasn't him. This was the one who was doing this to him. The one who needed to be destroyed at all costs.

Unfortunately, England couldn't get a word in to the Rebel, for the man could only gasp, his wracking coughs filled with phlegm and blood.

And all the while, England could only watch.

-------

_And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge  
_

And the situation only got worse. America was being destroyed from the inside out, and the battles only got more intense. Bull Run, Antietam, Gettysburg…

_  
And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground  
_

Antietam and Gettysburg were the worst. England watched in horror as the two sides of America collided in a way that was horrifying and sickening to even witness. There was blood…a lot of it. More than anyone had thought was possible to lose. There was the stench of death that constantly shrouded the broken nation, his eyes dimmed to the point where they looked almost translucent. America looked like death warmed over. It was awful, and yet…England could only watch.

_  
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain_

Through it all though, America kept a weak smile on his face. He was pretending that nothing was wrong. Even though his outward appearance was ragged and torn, he was still America on the inside. He would continue to fight like the stubborn bastard he was. And yet, every time England saw America smile, he could only leave the room, tears shaking his body.

_  
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away_

This had to stop at some point. One side of America would end up becoming nothing more than a memory, while the other lived on. Which would it be though? England knew that the end was near. He could see it in America's eyes. Or rather, the Rebel's eyes. As the days wore on, America became stronger. He became more alert, more passionate.

_Breathe your life into me  
I can feel you  
_

England stayed with America the whole time. He was there through Vicksburg, the March to the Sea, and finally, Appomattox. The day when the terror and instability came to a horrific climax was one that England would never forget.

_I'm falling, falling faster  
Breathe your life into me  
I still need you  
I'm falling, falling  
Breathe into me_

They were in a meeting, when America stood up, a gasp on his lips. His eyes grew wide, wild, and he doubled over as if he'd been punched in the gut. Blood flew from his mouth, and the other countries stood back, terrified as to what could be ailing America. England knew, however, and held him through the entire ordeal. And finally, releasing one last wailing scream, America fell limp.

No one breathed for a moment. England was frozen in terror. It was over, but who had come out victorious? America's head raised, and his eyes opened. They were sky blue, like a precious lapis lazuli, and England couldn't help the cry of joy that he gave as he hugged America.

"It's over. It's really over. He surrendered." Were the first words that America, the _true_ America, whispered as he wept in England's arms. The dirty-blonde ran his hands through his beloved America's hair. "Yes…it's over. You're alright."

"England…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I—"

The American was silenced by a finger over his lips. "Hush. That doesn't matter any longer. You're you, and that's the most important thing." He trailed his fingers over the scars on America's face and neck. Those would fade with time, but they would never disappear.

He wouldn't forget. No one would.

Because forgiving, but never forgetting, is the promise of unconditional love.

_Breathe your life into me  
I can feel you  
I'm falling, falling faster  
Breathe your life into me  
I still need you  
I'm falling, falling  
Breathe into me_

-Fin

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**I really think this sucked. Really bad. But I finished writing this at 4:15 am, after starting it only 45 minutes earlier. So, yeah. Don't burn me too bad for this! Like I've said before, if you have a song and pairing you want to see written, let me know, so I can stop writing horribly angsty stories at 4:30 in the morning! Goddamnit, this was supposed to be fluff! How did it go from wanting to be fluff, to **_**this**_**?!**


	3. Let's Boil Hot Water

**Back for third helpings, are we, my darlings? Hehee, well, you've come to the right place! We serve everything for your cravings! Our special today is, of course, pasta!**

**The next song I've decided to go with is "Let's Boil Hot Water!" by Namikawa Daisuke, and also happens to be Italy's character song! I couldn't resist writing this once I read through the English translation. It practically screams Germany/Italy at me, so I will provide. I will be using human names throughout this one, so be warned. **

**Axis Powers Hetalia, once again, does not belong to me. It belongs to the amazing Hidekaz Himaruya. :3 And so also does "Let's Boil Hot Water!"**

**Enjoy this, pretty please with wurst on top? Hahahaha. **

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"**Let's Boil Hot Water!" **

**Pairings: Germany/Italy, Feliciano/Ludwig (they're the same, darnit!)**

**Rating: K+**

**Genre: Romance, Humor**

There were many things that Ludwig was certain that he loved. He loved wurst. He loved dogs. And he loved Feliciano. But that was where the contradiction came in.

He loved Feliciano, but for the life of him, he couldn't possibly begin to _understand_ Feliciano! The boy was forever talking about pasta. Being Italian, of course he had a love for the stuff. It was in his heritage, was it not? But to obsess over it, talking about it and cooking it every single day…well…it got very tiring after a while.

Oh, he'd tried to divert the brunette ray of sunshine's interests. He'd tried video games. But that only got him into the Cooking Mama game. He'd tried reading. Feliciano had discovered the cookbook. Hell, he'd even tried Food Network! But of course, that blasted Rachael Ray and Giada had introduced Feli to new Italian recipes that he hadn't tried yet.

When it came down to it, Ludwig knew that Feliciano wasn't _trying_ to be annoying, but let's face it! When you talk about a certain food group, force your partner to eat it nearly every single day, and mumble about the stuff in your _sleep_, it was nigh unbearable!

So one day, Ludwig sat Feliciano down at the kitchen table, his face solemn and his hands folded, to discuss Feli's latest flaw. "Feliciano, I've been thinking…"

"Oh no." The brown-eyed boy moaned, rolling his eyes. "That's never a good sign."

"Listen to me!" Ludwig snapped, though he really didn't mean to sound so harsh. Feliciano flinched. "I want you to tell me just why you love that blasted pasta so much. Why is it so important to you?"

Feliciano's face shone with a smile. "That's easy! I love pasta because it's so delicious! It gives me energy, and it's just so yummy! Pasta is the best thing in the world!"

"But is it more important than me?" Ludwig's intense gaze met Feliciano's wide-eyed gaze, and the brunette's forehead furrowed in a frown.

There was a long pause, then finally Feliciano spoke. "No…I love Doitsu*…but I love pasta too. You can't love two things at once?" His innocent smile and docile doe eyes were nearly Ludwig's undoing. For yes, he could get lost in those brown orbs, and forget what he was talking about entirely. "W-why…yes…I suppose…you can…but—"

"Then it's settled!" Feliciano bounced out of his chair, grinning widely, and kissed Ludwig's cheek affectionately. "I'm glad we had this talk, Ludwig!" And he was gone. Ludwig was left sitting there at the table, fingers pressed to the warm spot that still tingled on his cheek, and a dumbfounded expression on his face. _What just happened?_

-----

_Ludwig sure seems out of sorts today._ Feliciano thought as he walked along the edge of the stream behind Ludwig's house. _Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or maybe it's because I stole all the blankets last night and left him with only a bit of space on the bed. But…I can't help my sleeping habits!_

On and on he fretted. His lover was quite flustered and upset, that was plain to see, but…maybe Feliciano could cheer him up? But how? How?

The Italian trudged up the hill to his favorite place for watching the clouds. It was a quiet meadow where there were no trees to obstruct his view of the puffy white things that looked like the marshmallows he, Ludwig, and their friend Kiku Honda had roasted over a fire once.

He laid down in the waving grass, breathing in the clean air, and turned his gaze up to the clouds. At first there was nothing, but as his mind settled into its imaginative stage, he began to see objects in the clouds. There was a smiley face, a kitty cat, and even his big brother, Lovino, arguing with Antonio while holding a tomato! But as his eyes flitted from one cloud to the next, the shapes started to shift. There was a piece of ravioli smothered in sauce, and a bowl of macaroni…

That's when the idea started to form in his head. The perfect way to cheer Ludwig up!

"That's it!" He cried, jumping up and running down the hill.

-----

It was early evening when Ludwig finally looked up from his papers. He'd been sitting in his office ever since Feli had decided he wanted to run off the way he had.

He sighed and shut off his desk lamp, his eyes blinking to try to adjust to the sudden darkness he found himself bathed in. That's when he realized something. It was quiet. Too quiet. He hurried out of the room and down the hall, noting the deafening silence in the house. "Maybe I scared him off…maybe I upset him." The German muttered in worry, as he frantically looked this way and that. "Feliciano? You here?" He called out.

No answer. Ludwig hurried to the kitchen and snapped the light on. There was nothing…nothing but the smell of recently-made pasta. So Feli _had_ been here earlier. But still…something unsettled him. Feliciano usually invaded his office when he was cooking dinner, insisting that Ludwig eat with him. But tonight? He hadn't even known that Feliciano was in the house. How very strange. And what was that other peculiar smell? It smelled familiar, but Ludwig couldn't place it.

He visually searched the room again and came up with nothing. So he went over to the refrigerator and went to open it in search of a beer. That's when he saw the slip of paper.

Ludwig peered at it more closely, and discovered it was a note in Feliciano's own scrawled handwriting.

_Doitsu__, _

_When you get this note, come out to the backyard. I have a surprise for you!_

_Love always, Your Feli._

So the boy wasn't mad at him, after all! Ludwig's heart warmed at the ending signature, and he hurried to the back door. He pushed it open and hurried out onto the open patio. A quick glance told him that Feliciano was not here, but a faint glow out of the corner of his eye led him around the back of the house.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped short.

There was Feliciano, sitting on a picnic blanket and surrounded by soft candlelight. He had two bowls set out and a larger bowl in the middle, with two glasses of wine and a bottle set in a bucket of ice. It was the perfect romantic setting.

Feliciano looked up as he approached, and his winning smile stretched over his face. "You got my note!" He said.

Ludwig sat down. "I did. What's all this, Feli? Is there something about today that I forgot?" Oh crap, what if he'd forgotten their anniversary! A birthday? Anything at all?

But Feliciano's answering laugh broke him from his thoughts. "Oh no, nothing like that! I just wanted to do something special for you…since you were in such a bad mood earlier."

Guilt washed over Ludwig, and he blushed. "Feliciano, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. It wasn't right. You can like whatever food you like…and I shouldn't get in the way of that. I acted foolishly and I—"

But he was interrupted by a fork slipping into his mouth, and a delicious taste exploding on his tongue. It was pasta…of course…but…there was something else. As Ludwig chewed, it dawned on him. "You put wurst in the pasta!" He said after swallowing.

"Uh huh! I figured that if I put something you like in my favorite food, it can become both our favorite food!" The Italian fairly beamed at his genius.

"Feli…" And Ludwig promptly leaned over and pressed his lips to his adorable lover's. It was a sweet kiss, tender, full of life and passion, and it was over far too soon. But the pleasure in the boy's eyes couldn't be hidden. "Thank you."

"And look!" Feliciano pointed up at the stars. "Now we can eat our pasta and wurst, and star-gaze together too!" Another one of Ludwig's favorite hobbies.

As they ate their food and Ludwig pointed out the constellations, he knew that he'd probably never figure Feliciano out. The boy was unpredictable as he was affectionate, and he figured that was all right with him.

Maybe…maybe pasta wasn't so bad after all.

-----

_When it stops raining I go see my friend, and pile up memories with ravioli _

_Since I want to see your smiling face... Come on, let's boil hot water! _

_  
When the two of us gaze at the sky, we see stelline glittering in the night sky _

_Encircle the perfect star... Come on, let's boil hot water! _

**-End**

------

***I use "Doitsu" as Feliciano's affectionate nickname for Ludwig.**


	4. Never Alone

**Fifth drabble! **

**Never Alone belongs to Barlow Girl, and Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The War of 1812 was a very real and very devastating event that changed the course of history forever. I'm just doing my best to tell one part of its story through beloved and well-known characters. **

**Warning: Human names used!**

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"**Never Alone"**

**Characters: Canada, America, France, and mentions of Russia and England.**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, War of 1812-centric**

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The smell of death hung heavy in the air. Matthew Williams looked around himself in pained horror at the sight that met his baby blue eyes. Fires raged in every direction. There was screaming. A lot of it.

_York…it's gone. All of it. _The realization throbbed as much as the gaping, bloody hole in his chest did. Damn his brother to hell. He deserved it. Alfred was a selfish bastard, to even consider hurting his own brother, just to get back at Arthur!

_Mon dieu…_

It hurt so badly, this wound that his brother had plunged deep into him. Like a rusty serrated blade, twisting and diving deeper into his heart. But that was nothing compared to the pain of the fact that his precious _Papa_ Francis had not come.

Papa had said that he'd be here, whenever Matthew called. But just when Matthew had needed his help the most, his Papa had not answered. He was off fighting Ivan with that one man. _Napoleon Bonaparte,_ if Matthew recalled correctly.

The Canadian took another long look at the ruin and carnage that surrounded him. The cries of the injured and dying, the shouts of his tattered soldiers, and the crackling of the flames were the sounds that assaulted his hearing, making him wish for one cowardly moment that he were deaf, that he could not hear. _Because he didn't wish to hear._

Tears sprang to his eyes, the sheer enormity of the tragedy hitting him full-force, making his wound burn around the edges, not unlike the ferocity of the fires that now blazed merrily, burning his world, his life, to ashes. Matthew fell to his knees in the snow, the whiteness splattered with the blood of his people…his blood.

"_Papa!" _His voice broke raggedly at the end of his agonized cry. Surely Francis would hear him, and come yet. Surely he would.

The sound of footsteps approaching gave the Canadian cause to look up. But it was not the sight of long blonde layers and familiar French uniform that greeted him. His eyes narrowed, his blood ran hot, as he beheld a man who looked much like him. Nantucket swayed gently in the chilling breeze that fanned the blazes of Matthew's city, orange light from the flames dancing in the reflection they cast off of Texas.

"Alfred." He growled, his teeth grit in pure fury.

"Sorry, Mattie." The American shrugged nonchalantly. Matthew knew his apology was not real. Anyone with half a brain could figure that out from five miles away! "It had to be done."

With this pronouncement, Alfred turned on his heel and walked away, his boots leaving deep prints in the reddened snow, and his cursed bomber jacket flapping in the wind.

Matthew was left there alone, weak and vulnerable. Left to die, as it were, though Matthew knew the idea was ridiculous. It was not so easy to kill a country. He was strong and he knew it. He would survive.

But that day of recuperation seemed but a far off dream as he watched what was left of York go up in flames.

_Papa will come. _Matthew reassured himself, as he curled up into a ball, trying to stop the flow of blood that still oozed from his burning wound. _He will come. He always comes._

-----

"_Mon dieu! Matthieu!_"

Matthew wasn't sure how long he'd lain there, shivering and wounded in the bitter cold. But the voice he heard…it couldn't be…could it?

"_Matthieu!" _The voice called again.

Matthew took a deep, painful breath and let it out in the form of a shout. "_Papa! _I am here!"

Footsteps ran towards him, snow flying from the heel of leather boots, and then someone fell to their knees in the snow next to him. A pair of warm, gloved hands stroked the drying blood on the side of his face. "What happened to you, _Matthieu_?" There it was. That deep, familiar voice, as familiar as the scent of maple pancakes in his kitchen, wrapped around him, soothing him.

Maybe the world wasn't going to end, after all.

"Who did this to you?" Francis demanded, his voice thick with grief and worry. Matthew longed to sit up and embrace his beloved _papa_, let him know that he would be all right, in due time.

Matthew sighed, feeling the hands leave his face and touch his chest. He winced, letting out a low groan of pain. "Alfred…" He rasped.

The word had barely left his lips before Francis jumped to his feet, letting loose a string of curses in French, speaking so fast that Matthew could barely keep up. "Who does that fucking American bitch think he is, to touch you…_violate you_…in such a manner?!" Matthew had never seen his adoptive father so angry before, and he cringed.

"_Papa…_Arthur tried…he tried to stop him. But Alfred…he was too…" His air supply ran out, and Matthew groaned, laying his head back down into the snow.

Francis drew in a shuddering breath. Then, he knelt back down onto the cold ground beside the wounded Canadian's head. "_Je suis si désolé, mon fils._" He whispered, fingers weaving in the blood encrusted blonde locks of Matthew's hair.

"Why didn't you come…when I called?" Matthew asked, weakly lifting his hand to grab hold of Francis', clinging tight to the man he'd always thought of as his father.

"Ah, _mes excuses, Matthieu_." Francis replied with a sigh. The heavy undertones of his weary voice made Matthew focus a bit more clearly, straining his ears to hear what his _papa_ had to say. "I'm so sorry. I was delayed. Ivan was a bit more difficult to deal with than I first believed. Our invasion of his territories…it didn't go well."

"_Papa…_"

Francis laughed softly, his fingers stroking over the deep, dried gash that decorated Matthew's forehead gently. "That does not matter right now, _mon cher._ What matters is getting you somewhere safe and warm and dry."

Then Matthew felt himself being lifted into Francis' strong arms, and the cold, wet ground disappeared beneath him. He nestled his head into his father's chest, sighing wearily.

"I'm so sorry, _mon fils_. I wish that I could have been here to help."

"It does not matter now, _Papa._ I am Alfred's territory now. Neither you nor Arthur can help me anymore." Despair and misery colored his words, and he allowed a few traitorous tears to fall from his eyes. The salty liquid slid down over the bridge of his nose, staining Francis' muddy clothing.

"Ah, _mon cher_, I do not care whose territory you are, although I wish that I could say that you still belong wholly to me. I see you as my son. And as such, I will never leave you nor abandon you. Ever."

With the gentle reminder of this promise, Matthew allowed his eyes to close as Francis carried him away from the ruins of his capital, the older blonde humming a lullaby in his native tongue. The soothing voice led him into a sweet darkness, where no pain could take threshold.

"_Dodo, l'enfant do,  
L'enfant dormira bien vite  
Dodo, l'enfant do  
L'enfant dormira bientôt…_

…_Tout le monde est sage  
Dans le voisinage  
Il est l'heure d'aller dormir  
Le sommeil va bientôt venir_."

And Matthew knew. Francis would keep good on his promise. He would never be alone.

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_I waited for you today  
But you didn't show  
No no no  
I needed You today  
So where did You go?  
You told me to call  
Said You'd be there  
And though I haven't seen You  
Are You still there?_

_I cried out with no reply  
And I can't feel You by my side  
So I'll hold tight to what I know  
You're here and I'm never alone_

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**~ Fin**

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**The lyrics that Francis sings are part of a French lullaby called **_**"Dodo, l'enfant do"**_**. The lyrics are as follows:**

_**Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
The child will sleep very soon  
Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
The child will sleep oh, so soon. **_

_**Everyone is calm  
All around  
It's the time for all to sleep  
Sleep will come soon.**_

**Other translations are as follows:**

**Mon dieu- "My god."**

**Mon cher- "My dear"**

**Je suis si désolé, mon fils- "I'm so sorry, my son."**

**Mes excuses- "My apologies"**


	5. All About Us

"**All About Us"**

**Characters: Sweden, Finland, and Denmark, with mentions of Norway, Iceland, and Russia.**

**Rating: K+**

**Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort**

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**This story is loosely based on the song "All About Us" by t.A.T.u. I wrote it in the midst of a terrible bout of writer's block, but after hearing the song a few dozen times on repeat, I had to write it or go crazy. So, thus, it really sucks. It goes off on a tangent, and I have no idea what this story is even about, really. It's supposed to be retelling the tale of how Sweden and Finland broke away from Danish rule way back when. But I dunno. I'm too tired to think about it. I wanted to make this more yaoi than just mere friendship, because I love the SuFin pairing to death, but I wanted to put this on my Facebook page, and I can't put yaoi there. -nervous laugh-**

**I really love Sweden. He's so adorable. **

"**All About Us" belongs to t.A.T.u, and Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, who is more awesome than America and Prussia combined. No, seriously, he is.**

**Enjoy…hopefully……..**

**_**EDIT** Thank you to Damatris and SonChin for correcting my terrible Finnish. :3 I shall heap England's curses on Yahoo Babelfish for messing it up so horribly! Busby's Chair anyone? :3_**

**_Also, thank you SonChin for bringing to light the fact that Sweden does not share Finland's national anthem. =D You both deserve so many cookies for helping me out!_**

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_They say that a bird with its wings clipped will never fly. Thus is the way of Nature. But what if that bird decided to rebel against nature, and spread its crippled wings, and defy the laws by which it lives…? _

This is the way Sweden had always felt. Under the rule of Denmark, he felt suffocated. Unable to breathe, to find air, to live. The ruling Nordic country had always been very controlling. And worst of all, he was stubborn. He refused to listen to anyone but himself and his "best friend", Norway.

Up until Finland came along, Sweden had tried to ignore the stirrings of rebellion; the urge to revolt against Denmark. But when the war-battered country had been taken under Denmark's controlling wing, Sweden could bear it no longer.

He couldn't stand to see the blonde-haired boy bossed around like he was no more than a common slave. It made him angry to watch Denmark ignore the pleas that the Fin gave, blatantly ignoring the fact that Finland had suffered more hardship and terror than any of the Five Nordics combined.

Sweden wasn't sure what caused him to silently bond with the little blonde boy, whose violet eyes always seemed like they had something to marvel over. Despite his past, wars, and hardships, Finland always seemed so _happy._

The problem was, however, that Finland seemed to be scared to death of him. Sweden didn't know why or how, especially when Finland had taken to calling him by the nickname "Su-san".

To be frank, Sweden adored Finland, and that's why it hurt him so much to see the boy picked on by Denmark and Norway, and sometimes even Iceland, too.

And the restlessness within Su-san grew…

He found himself silently guarding Finland every single day, making sure that his little friend was alright. The boy liked to fight, and when he went out to war, Sweden worried. He knew that Finland would always come back, fairly unscathed. But after coming home one night after a particularly violent spat with Russia, Sweden decided to physically act.

Finland stumbled through the door, his hair matted with rain and blood from a large gash that bared its jagged edges from his forehead to just past his left temple, a move that would have been fatal had it not been for the fact that Nation-People are very hard to kill. His violet eyes were full of the frenzy of battle, but the weariness on his face was apparent. He looked at Sweden, who had been heading towards the stairs holding a stack of laundry, and fell forward.

The clothes suddenly found themselves thrown to the wooden floorboards as Sweden rushed forth, catching the limp country in his arms before he cracked his already beaten head on the wood.

"Su…san…" Finland rasped out, giving a tiny, nervous smile to the taller man before his eyes fluttered closed, passed out from weakness and loss of blood.

Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered to Sweden, except that he help Finland get well. He took Finland to his own room, bathed and bandaged him, and laid him in his own bed, watching him without rest throughout the night.

It was to this sight that Finland awoke the next morning, the blonde Swede staring at him while holding his hand. "Su-san!" Sweden blinked at him slowly. "Y're up." He stated simply. Sweden was a man of few words. He said things when they needed to be said, and always kept it short. " 'S yer head feel'n bett'r?"

"W-What? Oh…yes."

Sweden sighed. Everyone always said that they couldn't understand a word he said sometimes, but Finland was the only one who seemed to. "Glad."

Oh, the brilliant, lopsided smile that Finland sent his way set his heart ablaze with such warmth! There was nothing to compare to the happiness that Sweden felt, knowing that his little friend was going to be alright.

But the happiness couldn't last forever. Denmark visited Finland mere hours after, demanding that he get out of bed and get back to work. "But 'e's 'urt." Sweden objected, crossing his arms and glaring down at the blonde man. Denmark wasn't intimidating to him.

"I don't care! There's work to be done around here, and not enough hands to do it. Besides, if he's awake, he can work. End of story." And Denmark turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Sweden's hands shook with rage, but the touch of a hand on his shoulder blade gave him cause to turn back. Finland smiled up at him. "It's alright, Su-san. Denmark is right…I can work." Sweden wanted to object. He'd seen that look in Finland's eyes before. It was a look of despair, of bitterness, but still, the younger country looked so…_happy_. It made Sweden's heart ache with resentment towards the ruling Nordic.

This was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. They had to get out of here before he went mad.

…..

Finland was quietly working in the kitchen, making his favorite dessert of _salmiakki_, a salty licorice that tasted like no other. As he worked, he sang a little tune in his native tongue.

"_Oi maamme, Suomi, synnyinmaa, _

_soi, sana kultainen! _

_Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa, _

_ei vettä, rantaa rakkaampaa _

_kuin kotimaa tää pohjoinen, _

_maa kallis isien_."

"Come." The Fin's head jerked up from the mixing bowl, the wooden spoon dropping from his fingers and hitting the countertop with a slight clattering noise as he looked around in surprise.

"F'nland." The voice came from behind him. Finland turned around to see Sweden standing there, a bag on his back and that ever-stoic expression on his face. "What is it, Su-san?" He asked, his eyes wide. Why did it always look like Sweden was glaring at him? It was scary!

Sweden shook his head. " 'M leavin'. Come wit' me." He said, his voice lowering an octave as he glanced toward the kitchen door nervously.

"L-Leaving? But…but…Su-san, you can't! _Se on liian vaarallista!" _Finland squeaked, clapping a hand over his mouth at the warning Sweden seemed to be sending him with those glaring eyes of his.

"D'n't care." Came the terse, simple reply. "May be dangerous, but can't l't D'nm'rk keep try'n ta control m'homel'nds. Can't l't 'im keep ya h're eith'r."

"So…you want us to run away together?"

The nod was simple, but it changed Finland's mind quick enough. "Okay, let me go get my stuff." Finland turned away to leave, but Sweden grabbed his hand. "Can't l't ya d' th't. 'E'll hear ya. I g't yer stuff h're." He patted the bag on his shoulder.

So without a further thought, Finland took the coat that Sweden held out to him, and they stepped out into the blizzard that darkened the evening hours, the swirling snow disorienting him for a moment, but Su-san never let go of his hand…

--------

_And that's where I now find myself now. Nestled under thick blankets, shivering from the chilly night temperatures…or is it from the nervousness that I feel from being around Su-san? He's so scary! I mean, I don't think he means to be, but…ahhh! He's glaring at me again! _

"W-Well, it's nice to be away from Denmark…" Finland said, trying his best to start a conversation with the stoic man. "But…what do we do now?"

The only answer he got was a shrug. That bothered Finland somewhat. They'd escaped from Denmark's house, only to find that Sweden didn't have a plan for after the escape?! Now they were camped out in the mountains, with no where to go and no place to settle down and call home.

Denmark. That man had always scared him so badly. He was obnoxious, controlling, and very stubborn. And for someone like Finland, he wasn't the best person to be ruling. Obviously for Sweden, neither.

"It's good to be free, but I'm scared of being surrounded by strong nations." He sighed, cupping his chin in his hands. "This makes me so anxious…" The stare that Finland now received was shocked and somewhat hurt. "Ah…ahhh! I don't mean that being with you makes me anxious!" He stumbled over his words, trying to reassure his rescuer.

But Sweden was still staring at him. Silently, as always. And said silence was deafening. "W-Well, it's not as if worrying solves anything! Let's call it a day, okay?" He snuggled underneath his blanket yet again, shivering as he finally got a response out of Sweden. "If that's what y'want."

Smiling nervously, Finland wished Sweden a good night and closed his eyes. _He's so scary! I _don't_ know what it is, but something about him makes me so nervous! _Then he opened his eyes again. Su-san was still staring at him!

"N-Nice night, i-isn't it?" The blonde Finn stammered.

"That so."

A gust of chilled, mountain wind blew through their makeshift camp, causing Finland to shudder once again. "I-Isn't it a b-bit cold?"

"Y'think?"

Finland was ready to burst into tears. This guy was making him so nervous! He was just too scary! Maybe…maybe this alliance with Sweden was not such a good idea after all…

But then, there was warmth to his frozen body as two strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. " 'S it warm?" Came the surprisingly gentle voice.

The blonde shuddered again, but not from the wind this time as he snuggled closer to Su-san's warm body and shut his eyes again. _Lämmin. _He realized.

"_Vårt land, vårt land, vårt fosterland, _

_ljud högt, o dyra ord! _

_Ej lyfts en höjd mot himlens rand, _

_ej sänks en dal, ej sköljs en strand, _

_mer älskad än vår bygd i nord, _

_än våra fäders jord!" _

Finland's eyes snapped open again. Su-san was singing his song from earlier. It was in his own language, but yet…how did Sweden know it? He looked up at the other, who amazingly, had the ghost of a smile on his blank face, his eyes sparkling with warmth and comfort, and he spoke again.

"Y'don't l'ke it?"

"I do like it." Finland found himself saying before snuggling against the warm body yet again, now completely oblivious to the freezing winds and bits of snow that swirled softly around them.

"_Sun kukoistukses kuorestaan _

_kerrankin puhkeaa; _

_viel' lempemme saa nousemaan _

_sun toivos, riemus loistossaan, _

_ja kerran laulus, synnyinmaa _

_korkeemman kaiun saa." _He sang softly, almost a murmuring than an actual song, and against his hair, he could feel Sweden smile.

_"Ehkäpä hän ei loppujen lopuksi olekaan niin pelottava."_

It was still an awkward friendship, but it was the best alliance ever.

_-__ Loppu_

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Author's Notes and Translations:

The song that Sweden and Finland are singing is Finland's national anthem: "_Maamme_" which means "Our Country".

I tried to make this as historically accurate as possible, all things considered. I was going for a rather sad story, but it turned into sort of a fluffy friendship thing between Su-san and Finland.

_Maamme _Translation:

"Our land, our land, our fatherland,

Sound loud, O name of worth!

No mount that meets the heaven's band,

No hidden vale, no wavewashed strand,

Is loved, as is our native North,

Our own forefathers' earth.

Thy blossom, in the bud laid low,

Yet ripened shall upspring.

See! From our love once more shall grow

Thy light, thy joy, thy hope, thy glow!

And clearer yet one day shall ring

The song our land shall sing."

_"Se on liian vaarallista!" _– "It is too dangerous!"

_"Lämmin"_ –"It is warm."

_"Ehkäpä hän ei loppujen lopuksi olekaan niin pelottava."–"_Maybe he is not so scary after all."

_Loppu_ – "The End"


	6. Baby, I'm Amazed By You

**And the sixth drabble is underway! I debated back and forth which pairing should go to this song, because it's just such a beautiful love song. At first I wanted it to be America/England, but decided against it, since like, a whole bunch of other stories here are going to revolve around that pairing. Then I thought Russia/Lithuania, and it just didn't fit. Sweden/Finland didn't seem to cover it either, so I finally decided to make it Germany/Italy. I can honestly see this as their song, and I hope you'll agree with me! **

**Warnings: Sexual implications in this one, so I'm giving it a "T" rating. Nothing horribly graphic though. It's more teeth-rotting fluff than anything else.**

"**Baby, I'm Amazed By You" belongs to Lonestar forever. Long live country music! **

**Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Hinaruya. I'm just trying to express my love for his works through my own attempts, m'kay? Do not own. Never will. **

**Enjoy!**

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"**Baby, I'm Amazed By You"**

**Pairing: Germany/Italy, Ludwig/Feliciano**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Romance**

I cannot explain it; this feeling inside me that I get every time I stare into his beautiful brown eyes. I feel overwhelmed. I feel lost. But at the same time, I feel like I've come home to something wonderful. I can barely contain the emotion that wells up inside of me whenever he touches my arm, hugs me, or even leans over my shoulder to read what I'm writing.

He loves me, I know. He's loved me ever since I can remember. And the strange thing? Even though he's annoying. Even though he's always so carefree and lackadaisical. Even though he insists on eating pasta everyday…I love him too.

Feliciano is the light of my life. Ever since the day I found him hiding in that ridiculous tomato box in the forest, he's been a bright, shining beacon to my lost soul. Guiding me home, holding me, whispering sweet words of assurance. All was not lost for me in my time of instability and cruel ways. Feliciano loved me. That's all that mattered.

It's strange. I've never been this close to anyone that I can recall. I'm Germany. I've always been closed to the rest of the world. I never let anyone in. And then, this little brunette terror comes sweeping into my life like a hurricane. And I was never the same again.

When he snuggles up to me at night, having insisted on sleeping with me in my bed, it's all I can do to keep from giving in to my impulses, my emotions. I just want to take him into my arms and demonstrate my love for him, all night long.

After many, many months of feeling this way, I know I cannot keep myself back any longer. I must make Italy mine, forever.

I don't how he does it, making me feel so love with him the way he does. He's like a magnet, drawing me in, keeping him the center of my orbit. He's my entire universe. The stars are dull specks of light in a cloudy sky compared to his bright smile and cheerful countenance.

I know what I must do.

So one night, I muster up my courage, asking Feliciano the most important question I'll ever ask anyone. "Feliciano, I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?"

The little brunette is stunned, to say the least, but that doesn't stop him from tackling me to the ground, layering my face with sweet kisses. "Ve~! I will! I will marry you, Ludwig!"

The day of our wedding is sheer bliss. The sight of Italy in his wedding dress is a sight I'll never soon forget. The veil in his hair, flying out behind him as he glides towards me, a blush all over his gorgeous features, it takes my breath away. The flowers in his hands? Edelweiss. My country's national flower. The sweet scent of the blooms only adds to Feliciano's radiance.

I'll never forget the way his voice trembled as he whispered the words, "I do". The tears in his eyes as I cupped his cheeks in my shaking hands, kissing him on the lips for the very first time as a married couple.

Then there is our wedding night.

I never cease to be amazed by the sight of my Feliciano's nude body, laid out before me, welcoming me home. The scent of his skin drives me wild with desire. It's a warm, vanilla scent, mixed with, of course, pasta. But it's Italy's smell. His unique odor that sets my nostrils ablaze with need to keep smelling it.

His kisses are a miracle all their own. I can never get enough of them. The taste is unlike anything I've ever experience before in my life.

"Germany…" He whispers, wrapping his arms around my neck as I hover over him, biting and nipping at his neck playfully. "I want to feel you. I want you to love me." And I gladly oblige.

Every cry he makes as I make love to him, it's like music to my ears. I can't begin to describe the way it set my heart on fire, the heat crawling across my skin, the pleasure I felt, loving him this way, and being loved in return. I didn't deserve his whimpered cries of _"Te amo, te amo, Doitsu!" _I didn't feel worthy to be loved by such an angelic creature.

That is what Feliciano is. He's my guardian angel, my love, my whole world. The other nations can fight all they want, get involved in another world war. The whole world could implode around us, and I wouldn't notice, as long as I'm in my darling's eyes.

We continue to make love long into the night, every time feeling like the very first time. My heart is overflowing with these strange, but deliriously exciting, emotions. I can't restrain myself any longer. Nor do I want to.

And when we finally finish, sweating and panting, but happy, I pull my Feliciano into my arms, kissing him again.

"Feliciano?"

"Hmm? What is it, Germany?"

"Will you be by my side forever, no matter what happens?"

A small giggle around my lips, and then, "Of course, Ludwig. We pinky-promised, didn't we? I'll never leave you, and we'll always help each other out."

I smiled, nuzzling him as I pulled him closer. He let out a tiny breath against my neck, and whispered his good-night.

And all I thought think of was: _He's mine. Mine and no one else's_.

He's amazing, my Feliciano. Every little thing he does, every little quirk he has, none of it ever ceases to amaze me. Because I'm just so in love with him.

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_I don't know how you do what you do  
I'm so in love with you  
It just keeps getting better  
I wanna spend the rest of my life  
With you by my side  
Forever and ever  
Every little thing that you do  
Baby I'm amazed by you_

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**- End. **


	7. How To Save a Life

**How To Save A Life**

**Pairing: America/England**

**Rated M for drug abuse, shonen-ai, and language**

**Summary: It was the only way Arthur knew how to take the pain away. Alfred had caused it, so why was he acting like he cared? **

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. Maybe that's a good thing, considering what you're about to read. D:**

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Why did love have to hurt so badly?

Arthur clutched at his shirt, feeling the burning ache in his heart intensify as he stared wordlessly at Alfred, who had sat him down on this particular day, probing him about the syringes he'd found in the Briton's rubbish earlier this morning.

What business was it of that fucking American's what he did with his spare time? It wasn't as if Alfred cared. He'd left Arthur. Left him with naught but a broken heart and no way to pick up the pieces. When Alfred had said those words, _"I can't be with you anymore, Arthur. I'm just over it!"_ the dirty-blonde had felt a huge part of his soul die.

Alfred F. Jones had been his everything from the day they'd met. No man could have been more suited to Arthur Kirkland than he was. They were like two puzzles pieces that somehow fit together when no other pieces would stick. He'd given the bespectacled blonde his life, his love, his virginity, and so much more. And then Alfred had tossed him to the wayside, like he was little more than the trash wrapping around one of his fucking hamburgers.

And the pain_. _The goddamned _pain_ that he suffered at nights, alone in his bed, missing the other's touches, kisses, and sweet words of promise and affection. It burned through his veins, making sleep impossible, and with the pain-induced insomnia came the memories.

Arthur couldn't count on his fingers and toes combined how many sleepless nights he spent in tears, screaming at every deity he could think of to make the pain and memories go away for good.

After more than two months of this, he'd decided he'd had enough. He knew that sending away for illegal cases of heroin was a bad idea, but he couldn't bring himself to care. After all, Francis had told him countless times how wonderful it was when you were so far gone that you couldn't even remember your own name, much less anything that brought you pain.

Nor could he bring himself to care the first time he injected himself with the potent stuff. As the drug worked its way through his system, he found the world to be a brighter place than it'd been before. Everything felt good and happy and joyous. There was no pain in this world. _What was pain anyways?_

And so it began. Every day, sometimes twice a day, Arthur shut himself away in his room, eager to inject himself with the narcotic and leave this cruel, pain-filled world for the other world, filled with euphoria and unicorns that understood him.

After waking up, laying in his bathtub like a discarded slab of meat, Arthur realized something. He had run out of his last case of heroin. Shit.

But that thought was not long in his mind, as a terrible wave of nausea hit him, forcing him to scramble out of the bathtub and hurl himself over to the toilet, where he vomited up what had apparently been his lunch yesterday, since he didn't recall eating dinner. Unless he'd eaten while in his wonderland, and didn't know it.

After emptying his stomach, Arthur got up unsteadily, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Bleeding bollocks, but he looked like absolute shit! His sunken eyes did not glitter a bright emerald. Instead, they were dulled to a lifeless olive colour, with streaks of red around them. Bloodshot. Ugly. His cheeks were pale, with huge dark circles underneath of aforementioned eyes. His hair, once shiny and golden, was matted against his forehead in clumps of dreary yellow. Arthur touched the mirror with his fingertips almost sadly. What was he doing to himself?

------

When Alfred had come over that bright Sunday morning almost a month later, the first words out of his mouth were, "Holy shit, Arthur! Are you sick or something?! You look fucked!" Only to have the door slammed in his face.

Arthur dragged himself back to his bed, pushing the syringes from the night before onto the floor before flopping down horizontally and passing out yet again. The night before had been so wonderful. Why did Alfred have to wake him up and ruin it? Speaking of which, why had Alfred been there at all?

Of course, he couldn't be bothered with such an insignificant question like that when the faeries awaited him back in his dreams.

-------

Alfred pushed open the front door, peeking his head inside, half-expecting Arthur to throw a butcher knife at him from the kitchen or something. But when he heard and saw nothing in the immediate area, he let himself in.

The first signal that something was wrong was the fact that there was an inch-thick layer of dust on his tables. Arthur _never_ let anything get dusty! That had been one of the sore spots between them: Arthur's obsessive-compulsive cleaning and Alfred's slovenly ways.

The second signal was in the kitchen. No, it was not blackened with soot from one of Arthur's crazy British concoctions that he called meals. And that was just it. The kitchen, other than having another fine layer of dust over everything, was almost _too_ clean. As if it hadn't been used in months.

"Arty?" He called out, feeling worry sink into his stomach like a rock as he moved down the hall towards the Briton's bedroom. He knocked softly before opening the door to the darkened room. And froze, gaping openmouthed at what he saw.

-------

"Arthur, why? I just want to know…why?"

Now, in present time, Arthur found himself glaring a hole through the tabletop, listening to Alfred's repeated questions. "It's none of your business, you fucking piece of arse shit!" He snapped, fingers tightening around the ends of the chair's arms. He was getting twitchy. Not a good sign. He was getting moody. Also not a good sign. It'd been over twelve hours since he'd last hit himself up, and now it was starting to take its toll.

Alfred observed all of this, heart sinking as he realized just how bad this was. "Arthur, don't you know what you're doing to yourself? You're killing yourself!"

"I don't care." Came the stony reply. "I want to die. I've no purpose on this earth, except to be Fate's scapegoat, the one she dumps all her pain and agony onto. I want to die and be free of it all forever!"

Tears welled up in the American's sapphire eyes. "Arthur, please, listen to me. You're upset. You're hurt over what happened between us. I know that. I've had to bear the weight of looking into your eyes and seeing the pain I've put you through every time I see you! Do you honestly think that I'm not hurting too?"

Emerald eyes blazed in red-hot fury. "Then why don't you just kill me right here, right now? If I'm being the rain on your fucking parade, then why don't you put us both out of our misery and smash my skull against a brick wall or something?" His hands were shaking uncontrollably, itching to strangle the life out of Alfred.

The other blonde sighed, shaking his head as he hung it. Why was he even bothering? Arthur obviously wasn't going to listen. So what was the point? But at the same time…Alfred spoke up one last time. "Arthur, I'm going to give you one last choice. You can either give up the drugs…I'll go with you to rehab and everything, or you can continue on your path to your impending death. Which will it be?"

The Briton was silent for a moment and Alfred spoke up yet again. "I can help you, Arthur. We may not be lovers any longer, but I still care about you and—"

"Save it, Alfred! I'm sick to death of your bullshit and lies…literally!" Arthur yelled, glaring at him with all the hated he had bottled up inside of him. And he promptly got up from his seat, storming out of the American's house and slamming the door behind him.

And the shaken man still seated could only bow his head, praying that Arthur would do the right thing.

---------

At home, Arthur grabbed all of the remaining of his syringes out of the box under his bed, more angry than eager at this point. He just wanted a way out. That was all he wanted now.

One after another, he injected the drug into his system. Six…seven…eight…Arthur felt himself getting almost drowsy. He'd become so used to the narcotic by now that not even six doses of it would get him to that high state he loved so much. But eight…nine…even ten? He wasn't getting high at all. Just sleepy. Dizzy. Sick to his stomach.

Arthur slumped over, clutching his stomach as pain unlike the one that he'd tried to escape from overtook him. This was not mental pain. This was physical pain. Arthur knew what was wrong. He'd overdosed in his anger and rage, and now…now what? Those words he'd said back at Alfred's house about wanting to die…had he really meant it? Was he ready to face whatever was in the afterlife?

Panic seized him as he began to throw up, the acids staining the bed sheets a deep red colour as his muscles locked up, throwing him into convulsions that shook the bed so violently that he thought it might break asunder. He was cold. So very cold.

But he couldn't stop it now. He continued to convulse like someone possessed, crying out in pain as his vision began to blur and blacken around the edges. Was this it then? Was this how he was going to die? A broken, shaking mess, thinking of his one and only love?

As his vision darkened, he only vaguely heard a familiar voice calling his name. Who was Arthur anyways?

-------

Alfred sat by the bed, staring down at the listless figure sadly. He held Arthur's hand, hearing the slow beeps of the heart rate monitor calculate every action that the Briton's body made. After Arthur had left, Alfred had had the most unsettling feeling, like he should go over to Arthur's house and try to keep him from doing anything stupid.

When he'd arrived, he'd heard the screams coming from the bedroom, and he knew he'd arrived too late. The only thing he could do was carrying the seizing, convulsing man to his car and rush him to the hospital, where he'd been immediately treated for heroin over-dosage.

And the man hadn't woken up since.

Needless to say, Alfred was scared. Arthur wasn't out of the woods yet. Even though the most recent of the drugs had been washed from his system, there were still the long-term effects from having been on the drugs for so long. The doctors had quietly told him that they were looking for signs of diseases like HIV/AIDS, heart problems…breathing problems. All of it and more.

All in all, Alfred felt responsible, even though he knew that it wasn't his fault at all. If only they'd learned how to compromise and get along together, then he and the man he'd really loved all along might still be in bed on this beautiful morning, enjoying the afterglow of a night spent making love to each other, instead of the way things were.

He sighed, looking at the pale man. "Oh Arthur…you never realized that what I did…I did for the good of both of us. Or at least I thought so. If I'd known…if I'd only known…I could have been able to save your life a long time ago."

The beeps of the heart rate monitor were his only answer in the still room.

What would happen now? Only Arthur could decide, if he ever woke up. But Alfred knew one thing. He'd never leave Arthur's side again. The man was precious to him, and it was up to him—and only him—to make sure that he never hurt himself this way again.

It was with the making of that promise that Alfred continued to watch over Arthur, holding his hand tightly, and never letting go.

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_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And would I have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life_

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**Aaaaaaaaaaand this is why you don't give me a computer and my song playlist at 4:30 am when I'm in an angsty kind of mood. D: I very nearly kill my favorite characters. Yeah. **

**Reviews are nice. And they may just inspire me to write the fluff that you saw in the last chapter. Which would be nice. Really nice. **


	8. You'll Be In My Heart

"**You'll Be In My Heart"**

**Pairing: England/America**

**Rating: K**

**Genre: Romance/Comfort/Family**

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**This particular installment of "The Music Within Me" is dedicated to my best friend, Letovix, who needed a pick-me-up after not being able to celebrate Hetalia Day properly like she'd planned to. **

**The prompt that I received was as follows: **

_**England has to be seme, no matter what. I want anything that involves a lot of sweet fluff, lots of kissing, and showing the sweet, sensitive side of both England and America. If smut is involved, keep it to a minimum.**_

**Hopefully I did good, Leto-senpai. I'm in severe writer's block right now, so putting this in words was painful. XD**

**As for the rest of you wonderful watchers and readers, I hope you enjoy this too. I worked as hard as I could for three days on it. It's not much, but I like how it turned out. :3**

**This story was also inspired by the fanart video on youtube: http: // www (dot) youtube (dot) com/ watch?v=OL_Ng8LhESo . Check it out. It makes me cry with happiness every time I watch it. **

**Disclaimers: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, and "You'll Be In My Heart" belongs to Disney. **

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_Just outside of Boston. Summer 1635_

America was crying again. It seemed to be happening more and more often these days. England got up, only a little hesitant to leave the comfort of his warm bed, and padded across the room to the tiny cradle that he'd crafted, just days after America being adopted as his little brother.

He peered into the cradle. His precious brother's face was streaked with tears, the baby wailing at the top of his lungs. The piercing sound tore through England's heart, ever so tender towards the blonde child. Some nights when America cried endlessly, England just wanted to cry with him. It was just that heartrending.

England leaned down and lifted the babe into his arms, holding him close to his chest as he swayed back and forth, hoping the movement would soothe his darling baby and quiet him once again. "America, you're so cute, but you cry every night like your heart is breaking. Won't you please tell me what's wrong…so I can fix it?" He spoke softly into the baby's ear.

The baby did not pay any heed to England's soft-spoken words, and continued to cry. The Briton sighed, carrying him over to the window and staring out across the vast land that made up his precious colony. Was it already starting to trouble America? Were the new towns and fledgling governments the cause of America's heart-wrenching cries every night? The reason behind the colic he always seemed to suffer from?

That should not be. England was America's big brother, his caretaker. It was up to him to make sure that his beloved brother stayed just as happy and healthy as he'd been the first day they'd met, and nothing was going to break him from that decision.

With America still wailing, England grabbed the blanket he'd crocheted out of the cradle, and carried his child through the darkened house, out onto the front porch. He sat down in one of the rocking chairs, facing the night sky, and just rocked America back and forth.

America loved the outdoors, and this was the place England would always bring him, no matter what. On the nights when America was serene and peaceful, England would rock him to sleep in this rocker, both of them watching the stars, though how much America comprehended, the British gentleman did not know.

But the blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel still continued to howl, his little face buried in England's nightshirt. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and he blinked them back.

"My precious son…."

That was the way England thought of him. America was more than a brother. He truly was the Briton's son. Maybe not in flesh-and-blood, but so long as England was taking care of him, watching out for him, and raising him as his own, he was his son. It was strange how easily fatherly duties came to him. His first priority, his main concern…it was not just on his empire any longer. It was on his angel. His beautiful America.

Fingers threaded themselves into hair the color of summer wheat, and England leaned down to press a chaste kiss against the crying boy's ear.

_Come stop your crying  
It will be all right  
Just take my hand_

_Hold it tight_

I will protect you  
from all around you  
I will be here  
Don't you cry

The lullaby seemed to slip forth so easily from his lips, and true to form, when England started to sing, America's crying slowed. His sapphire eyes opened to look up at his big brother, and England smiled. "Don't cry anymore, America. I'm here for you. I'm always here for you."

America said nothing as his big eyes continued to draw England in, making him believe that he garnered more affection for his baby boy than he did for even his king or queen. But those tears still glistened in the corners of his eyes. So he held America tighter and rocked a bit faster, stroking the wetness away from the baby's cheeks.

_For one so small,  
you seem so strong  
My arms will hold you,  
keep you safe and warm  
This bond between us  
Can't be broken  
I will be here  
Don't you cry_

'Cause you'll be in my heart  
Yes, you'll be in my heart  
From this day on  
Now and forever more 

To his delight, America's eyes had begun to droop closed as England continued to sing. The roses on his cheeks had returned, signifying that all was well for now. America would sleep peacefully tonight, and not a single riot or Indian attack would keep him from that slumber he so desperately needed. __

You'll be in my heart  
No matter what they say  
You'll be here in my heart, always

"Grow up big and strong, America." England whispered as his lullaby finished. "I'll always be here for you when you need me…and even when you find that you don't…I'll be here to catch you if you fall. Precious baby of mine, I'll always love you, no matter what."

~*~

And grow America did. Over the next eighteen years, feeling like mere hours to the empire, England watched his colony grow from a baby taking his first steps to a strong man, taller than even him. Gone were the innocent blue eyes and childish laughter. In their wake, the face of a man. At least America had kept his mischievous nature and the smile that never seemed to quit.

Well, it hadn't quit…until recently. More and more often, England found himself arguing with America, the boy having turned eighteen recently and demanding more independence for himself.

When the chosen day came, the rain falling in their faces and guns pointed at each other, England knew that he couldn't hold on to his boy any longer. He had to let go.

So he did. With a soft cry of defeat, falling to his knees in the mud, he let America go.

But sometimes in life, unexpected things happen. We call them _miracles._ America, his precious once-colony, now a new nation standing on his own, ready to spread his wings and fly like his beloved eagles, knelt down in front of England and gathered his former brother into his arms, cradling him close, as if trying his best to heal the broken heart the empire carried.

"No matter what has happened, England, I've never hated you. Not once. I love you too much to ever carry anything but love and respect for you. Thank you. For everything."

Those words…they were like a soothing balm to England's wounded soul. He looked up into America's determined blue eyes and reached out to him, stroking his cheek. "America…"

_When destiny calls you  
You must be strong  
I may not be with you  
But you've got to hold on  
They'll see in time  
I know  
We'll show them together_

America whispered those words…the sweet words of his lullaby from so long ago, and they gave England hope.

~*~

_Present Day…_

England found himself loving America just as much, if not more than he had all those years ago. They'd begun to form a Special Relationship with each other. At least, that's what their bosses called it. To England and America, it was more than just a special relationship. It was _their_ relationship, their love for each other, so carefully cultivated over all of the years of separation.

Sure they had fought in the past, but all of that had been set aside, as the two nations embraced each other as more than just fellow countries…or even brothers. It was love. The kind of love that only true lovers could share.

The Briton wasn't sure what it was that had caused this fond affection for his former colony, especially when the blonde was so damn annoying at times. But America was America. That was the only way he could explain it.

"E-England…" They were snuggled up on England's couch, their movie night abandoned for something much more intimate. He touched America again, moving his fingers up the boy's bare chest, brushing against a nipple every so often. All the while, their lips were moving, caressing, and meshing against each other's.

He cupped America's fair face in his free hand, the other hand still assaulting the other man's chest, and kissed him again. Their tongues slid against each other's in mutual desire, dancing to a lover's waltz that only they could understand.

"England…I…I love you." How his heart thrilled to those sweet words! How he'd longed for years to hear them again. They were not in that high, childish voice that he'd loved first, but in the deep, yet still so child-like tone that America now had.

Kissing his lover yet again, England began to hum into America's mouth absently, fingers curling in blonde locks. But to his displeasure, America pulled away, frowning slightly. "That song…"

The dirty-blonde Brit smiled and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together as he straddled America's still-clothed waist on his couch.

_You'll be in my heart  
Yes, you'll be in my heart  
From this day on,  
Now and forever more_

Oh, you'll be in my heart  
No matter what they say  
You'll be in my heart, always.

"My lullaby." America breathed, a smile on his face. England nodded, and pressed their lips together again, ready to sweep his precious ex-colony off his feet and into a state of bliss and ecstasy. And as they went down, one could hear the whispered word among the breathy moans and panting gasps.

_Always._

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***falls over* Letoooooo, I'm finally done grinding this out of my writer's blocked brain. I really hope you like it. It's not what you expected, I know, but hey, it's got fluff, kissing, and a bit of touching. And implied smut, but not sex. X3 Just what you ordered, yes? **

**As for the rest of my fans and watchers here, I really hope you enjoyed this as well. :3 Reviews are appreciated!**


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